


Nigh Comes The Tide

by dorkery



Series: Hither Lies Our Fated Way [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christianity, Colonialism, Colonization, F/M, Islam, Pining, Religious Conflict, Teenagers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dutch-Portuguese Wars, The Thirty Years' Wars and The Eighty Years' Wars envelop him. The domestic rebellion is what finishes Portugal off.</p><p>A prelude to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/461891">Dark For All Of Me</a>.</p><p>Related to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/278187">Time and Tide and 'One Thousand and One Arabian Nights'.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nigh Comes The Tide

**Author's Note:**

> **Set in 1640, right before the Dutch ousted the Portuguese and claimed *Malacca as their colony with the help of locals from **Johore.**  
>   
> 
>  
> 
> *Malacca was the main port and most famous kingdom in the Malayan peninsula that traded internationally during the period. It was colonized by the Portuguese in 1511 and became the Portuguese base of operations in the Southeast. In this fic, Malaya is more accurately a representation of the Malaccan Sultanate (until the modern period). Cultural absorption was significant to the point that the current Malay language retains much of the Portuguese language's vocabulary.
> 
>  
> 
> **Johore is a state south of Malacca founded by the deposed sultan and royalists of Malacca. The sultan treated with the Dutch in order to remove the Portuguese and became a Dutch colony thereafter in 1641, although the Dutch based themselves in Jakarta/Jayakarta/Batavia. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I say.
> 
>  
> 
> Appendix piece about Portugal and Malaya for the [Big Ass Habsburg History Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/22718), and what happens that pushes him over the brink and contributes to his decision to rebel against the Iberian Union. This takes place in **Dark For All Of Me** , specifically after he meets Austria and several hours before he confronts Spain and rebels. (In the Drawing Room at night, Spain asking him to sleep with and take care of the Italies is the straw that breaks the camel's back, directly after which Portugal loses his temper and has the biggest one-sided argument of his life with a "physically weakened from the shitty economy"!Spain.) Malaya's actions reflect his own actions as he declares his independence, his treatment of her mirroring Spain's treatment of him. But mostly it's about them breaking up, or, you know, one of the interpretations you could take regarding (the end of) their relationship. The irony is that Portugal doesn't want to become like Spain, but is exactly like Spain. And that is actually kind of sad.
> 
> Also, please note that their characterisations in this brief story are very strained because they're on the losing end of several wars. It's enough to make assholes out of anyone. Plus, as I have stipulated before, social problems amongst a nation's people directly affects a nation-character's psychological state. Portugal exhibits some cruelty as a reflection of his colonialist reputation for ruthlessness. In a more peaceful time, Portugal would have been the most charming man you could ever hope to meet. 
> 
> One more thing: there is a distinct possibility that Portugal is lying. Keep that in mind.

Spain’s castle thrummed tiredly, sun seeping in and warming the halls.

One of the greater windows along the castle gallery was open, and sitting on the sill were a pair of youth. Portugal had discarded his beret and mantle respectfully, clasping a pair of small hands gently as he spoke in a soft voice. Opposite him was a wistful Malaya.

“Please don’t leave me,” Portugal murmured gently, reaching a hand forward to touch her cheek. She did not move, used to the gesture, and she might have tilted her head into it. “Have I not taken care of you?”

“I never denied that,” she said, expression still carefully withdrawn.

“You don’t smile for me anymore.”

She sighed softly, shaking her head, but she did not reply. 

It was true.

“My love,” Portugal coaxed. “I’ve given you everything in the world.”

“Holland gives me _more_.”

Portugal tensed briefly, but he forced the anger away, voice controlled but still tender. He took her hands in his, thumb gently caressing her thin fingers. 

“You’re breaking my heart,” he whispered, and she bit her lip. “You’re breaking it in the worst possible way.”

“No, Portugal…” 

“You know how much I _despise_ him,” Portugal ground out the words. “I hate _everything_ about him. Have I made you so angry that you must use this cowardly way to hurt me?”

“It’s not that I want to hurt you-”

“But you _are_ , Malaya. You _are_.”

She was at a loss for words and he drew in a slow breath, gazing into her eyes, leaning so close that they were almost nose to nose as he curled an arm around her body.

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

Malaya was silent, shaking slightly as Portugal held her close. He heart was thundering but she kept her lips sealed. Slowly, she curled her fingers into the front of his jacket, cradling his cheek with her other hand. He closed his eyes and kissed her palm, smiling with a satisfied glint in his eyes as reached forward to capture her mouth with his own-

-halted by the hand on his chest, pushing him away gently.

“You would have me say ‘Yes’,” her voice trembled. “And charm me with your sweet words and your fast hands and your lips and your kisses. But you hold the word love against me when you know full well that I am utterly devoted to you.”

“If that’s what you claim, then why do you seek _Holland_ -”

“Because the one word that doesn’t come from his mouth is ‘Portugal’!” 

Silence overcame them for a moment.

“Malaya,” he said, voice hollow and somehow full of dread. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t pepper every single sentence with talk about war, and competition, and empires, and how much he hates you.”

“Have mercy,” he said in disgust, releasing her and raking his hair back. “I cater to your sensitivities as much as I should _during_ a time of war and empire-building. And you know just how badly it’s been going for me. I should never have let you go back to meet your brother.”

“Who Java introduces to me is our business as kin. Besides, Holland also has the decency to reciprocate all of my _sensitivities_ with the truth.”

“Did you call me a liar?” Portugal’s eyes narrowed. 

“Yes,” she said, suppressing the flinch as his expression darkened. “He’s nothing like you. He’s straightforward and blunt and tells me everything I want to know even if I don’t need to. He doesn’t _cater_ to my sensitivities, but he acknowledges that they exist even if he won’t do anything about it.”

“You _love_ him.”

“I do not,” she replied irately. “If you’d been listening, you’d know that we both know I love you.”

“Yet you want to be with him-”

“Because he doesn’t remind me of you.”

Portugal’s expression lost its anger, contorted lightly in confusion.

“We both know,” Malaya’s tone and demeanour lost its bravado and she stared at her hands shyly. “… we both know exactly how I feel about you and… exactly what I want.”

Portugal inhaled sharply.

“You know it’s impossible.”

Silence hung briefly between them until a loud _crack_ resounded through the room. Portugal’s eyes were wide and he turned his head slowly, fingers skimming the redness that was blooming on his cheeks before he jumped to his feet too and grabbed her wrist with a growl of anger, his own hand raised to reciprocate the slap. 

His hand faltered when he saw the tears in her eyes.

“You’re a liar, Portugal,” her voice trembled. “You shower the word ‘love’ like flower petals but you never mean it. You never tie yourself to it. You say it like it means something and I submit to you day after day because I want to believe in it, but the truth is that you don’t love me at all, do you? You just want another obedient colony curled around your finger to do as you please. You just want one more colony, _one more colony_ than Holland.”

“I _love_ you,” Portugal retorted indignantly. “We’ve been together for over a century and you _know_ I do! I’ve fought for you and protected you and I’d do anything for you!”

“Then why won’t you _marry_ me?”

Portugal opened his mouth, wanted to respond, but the words were a mess and refused to come forth. They stilled in that awkward position, and soon, Portugal’s grip on Malaya’s wrist loosened and both their hands fell to their sides.

“Because I’m too small? Because I’m too far away? Because I’m not _Christian_? I’m not a _whore_ , Portugal. I don’t want to be your paramour. I don’t want to be a concubine. I don’t want to be second to _Brazil_.”

“You’re asking for too much, Malaya.”

“How is love too much? What do you ask of me?”

Portugal shook his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“Malaya. We will _never_ marry. It’s impossible. Our gods decree it impossible.”

“Then would you stop visiting the other rooms at night?” 

Portugal froze.

He swung his gaze to her tear-stained face, eyes wide and expression ashen, mouth open to babble some excuse but failing to produce a single sound. He was a terrific liar, but faced with that knowing look in her eyes, he suddenly felt like a small child, weak and powerless and _cornered_.

“I _know_ , Portugal. I’ve seen you. Please don’t lie to me. Please don’t lie to me.” 

He wanted to deny it, to refute it, to shout at her, scream at her for her accusations, but he couldn’t. She knew. She truly knew. He had once returned to his room in the earliest hours of dawn to find her asleep by his bed, as though she had been waiting for him. He had thought it endearing that she still found it in her to seek him out when she had nightmares, but she was no longer a child when that had happened. Neither of them had been. Under her withering look, he finally realised that she was waiting for his excuse, his coaxing words, his endearments.

“I have a right to my colonies.”

That had been the right thing to say. That had been the wrong thing to say.

Malaya clapped a hand over her mouth, tears clouding her vision as she shook her head in disbelief. She staggered back. She sobbed quietly, heard her heart breaking and shattering as she sank to the floor and she _wanted_ to give in, to do anything to make Portugal take her even if her religion forbade it. She had refused his god, refused his church, and now he would turn to the embrace of others because of those refusals. As Portugal reached for her, she slapped his hand away, afraid of those arms and his embrace and how _weak_ she was to them.

“I never touched you because I _love_ you.”

She never wept harder. 

Malaya shook her head, refusing any more words from him because each little sound he made stung now. He was lying, trying to soothe her, but if he truly loved her he would have stayed by her side even when he grew into a man and she remained a child. If he truly loved her, he would not have forgotten about her existence even when she lived in the same castle, ate at the same table. He would have realised she was missing from dinner during those long days of fasting and prayer in the holy month of Ramadhan. He wouldn’t have completely forgotten about her until she herself blossomed into a woman, had descended from her room to eat in her Eid finery, no longer a child but a _woman_. It was obvious now what was on his mind. What had always been on his mind.

Standing was agony under the weight of her sorrow, but she forced herself to. Her breaths were shuddered and shallow, but she had just enough clarity to make her formal declaration. And she would leave the castle on her own, for the first and last time.

“I choose Holland.”


End file.
